IV

There is always some meat which a man's stomach rejects, and Governor Grey's rejected the Maori flag although digesting the Maori king with a certain difficulty. So there were consultations, bribes, and what not which the chiefs (watching over Grey's shoulder the ar- page 334 rival of more troopships, the gradual penetration of the military road) rejected with less than their usual courtesy. Neither side trusted the other now, and the papers became so dangerous that Jermyn, after several bouts of verbal fisticuffs with the Chronicle, went to Sydney. There is such a thing as going too far, said Jermyn, discovering it about ten years too late.

Everybody was discovering it. But a section of the papers, butchering to make a Roman holiday, couldn't be stopped, and at the Institute gentlemen shook handfuls of the scurrilous stuff at each other, wanting to know what Parliament was doing about it. “I shall bring the matter up in the House,” said Peregrine, seriously upset at this ribald disclosure of Grey's private quarrel with the general commanding Her Majesty's forces.

“Listen. Good God, sirs, just listen,” gobbled Major Henry, who would still climb on chairs though finding it so difficult. He read above the anxious faces: “Our trusty general, being roughly manhandled by England for absorbing so many troops to no purpose, retorts that New Zealand has neglected to provide sufficient militia to assist him. Since the militia is Governor Grey's prerogative, the fat is now well in the fire, with our two head men conducting such a tidy little quarrel as threatens to deadlock everything except the Maoris.” “Bloody fools,” cried Major Henry, gone as plum-colour as his satin waistcoat, “don't they know the Maoris read every word?”

“I fear it has taken us too long to learn that,” said Mr Hawke, who had a fine property out in the Manakau direction. “But since our noble member intends to ventilate this scandal in the House we may hope for the suppression of these papers….”

Peregrine tried, and so did others; but Parliament was over-occupied by another matter. Tribal wars were raging with a severity which alarmed everybody; and London's Colonial Office, having got us into this bog through continual meddling, now wished to shovel the page 335 whole control of native affairs on to us, and did it, leaving Grey and General Cameron complete masters of the army, so that any salutary methods thought out by the House were rendered negative by the inability to back them with force.

Not for us, said Parliament, driving the Colonial Office quite demented, since these benighted Antipodeans, always demanding power, would not take it when offered. What can be done with such imbeciles, complained London's distant Colonial Office, trying to understand everything and understanding nothing except this eternal cry for more troops.

English clubs and kettledrums discussed New Zealand with something more than aversion, and homesick officers' wives writing to their relatives received scant sympathy. Ridiculous nonsense. They are not trying to settle matters. Merely amusing themselves … and we have to pay, said the relatives back Home; dressing for the squire's ball, signing comfortable cheques for the maintenance of little Clara and Algernon at their select boarding-schools.

How we humans cling to our paltry little affairs with the world galloping to chaos about us, thought Jermyn, returning from Sydney to smoke a pipe with Major Henry and hear all the scandal of the town. But he sat up when the Major told about Tiffany. Tiffany, it seemed, had been very ill out at the farm, but she wouldn't allow folk in town to know. Then Darien, who couldn't hold her tongue and was asking everyone if they had seen Nick Flower, had let out something, and now all Auckland was saying that Tiffy had had an affair with some officer since returned to England on exchange.

“Peregrine won't have her home and I'd like to choke Darien,” said Major Henry, spilling snuff all over his increasing waistcoat with agitation.

Jermyn looked at the rows of old leather-covered volumes on the shelves, and thought of Tiffany chasing religions through them with face glowing and her bright page 336 bronze hair getting in a tangle with her clutchings at it.

Poor nut-brown maid, so ardent for life. “How does Sally take it?” he asked. Sally, as usual, was making a doormat of herself and getting no thanks, and Jermyn had better go up and see for himself, since the Major was heartily sick of the whole infernal business.

Jermyn went, through a primrose day fresh and pale and smelling of all sweetness as he came up the garden path between Sally's violets in great purple bosses and the young frail lilies of the valley. Their gentle delicacy seemed so much a part of Sally that when she came running in a flutter of sprigged blue muslin with the cap a little askew on her dear brown head he just took both her hands, saying: “Lord Palmerston waited thirty years for his wife, Sally. We have got through nearly twenty-five.”

“Oh,” cried Sally, trying to pull away because this sudden rush of happiness couldn't be real. “Won't Martha have you?”

“I don't like the feel of her hands. Too puddy. Yours are always cool. And firm. Such lady's hands despite all they have to do. So I am writing a book while I'm waiting, my dear.”

“Oh! Tell me about it.” Now she could get into the shadow, hide her glowing cheeks, her glowing heart, which shouldn't glow when poor Tiffy was so sad. But with sphinxes rising from their ashes … or was it phoenixes? Who cares, thought Sally, turning grave again when Jermyn spoke of Tiffany.

“I have read,” said Jermyn, “that of all the wrongs men inflict on women that of not marrying them is the one they should find it easiest to forgive. I should judge Tiffy was well rid of the fellow, dear.”

“Oh, yes. We are still trying to find Nick Flower. Darien says he will know. She is so monstrous angry with him,” said Sally, puzzled. “But I can't think he meant to be anything but kind, can you?”

Jermyn, being experienced, could think anything of page 337 anybody. But how was Tiffy taking it? “To the young the common cruelty of life is so very personal,” he said.

Tiffany, it appeared, had declared that she had only got what she deserved and forbidden further mention of the matter. She was quite well again and working very hard at the farm.

“I think perhaps all she learned from the Major's Buddhist philosophers is helping her,” said hopeful Sally, who would never be a philosopher and was just now rather frightened of this diligent reserved Tiffany.

Jermyn thought it sounded as though the nut-brown maid was getting bitter. These top-heavy tragedies of youth … and Peregrine setting up to be Lord Almighty and dividing the sheep and goats and putting poor Tiffany among the goats. He said he would not stay to meet Peregrine, who must be fully occupied with the state of his country … to say nothing of his daughter, and went away thinking of that little brown curl on Sally's white neck. Princes and principalities may rush to ruin, but there is always comfort so long as the sun shines and a woman is fair.

New Zealand undoubtedly was rushing to ruin. After walking round each other with tails up, like dogs preparing to fight, the two races could hold off no longer. Confusions had piled up, Pelion on Ossa, until Pelion tumbled of its own weight. A perspiring trooper galloped in with word that all the Waikato was going to march on Auckland, and that winter's night of July, 1863, saw the most agitated of all the agitated debates its Parliament had known. Consultations continued till daybreak, and next day the papers came out with it.

“Cameron will march at once into the Waikato. It has been decided to take the offensive. Again we are at war.”

By tremendous effort, Tamihana had held the truculent Rewi back from Auckland, but now it was of no use. “Now,” wrote Tamihana to his pakeha friends, “the page 338 Maoris are really angry. This time they will give no quarter. I am very sorry.”

Caught in a cleft stick, he stood aloof from the first fierce battle, in which the Maoris were slaughtered and driven back. “May God help us all!” said Tamihana, going out to throw all the weight of the kingship on the side of the men of his own blood.

“Alas, alas,” said the Maori women, “the land is swept with war's red tide….”